Inikhde
by PoetryInMotion97
Summary: When the dwarves of Erebor are driven from the Lonely Mountain, the children of the royal family must all grow into their destinies a bit sooner than they thought, and in ways that they never thought possible. Many years full of trials, devastation, betrayal, and unexpected hope await the heirs of Durin.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hello there! This is my first foray into publishing fanfiction, and it happens to be a multi-chapter story dealing with the sixty years between Smaug's attack on Erebor and the beginning of the quest to reclaim it. (I guess I just couldn't make it easy on myself and post a one-shot. ) "Inikhde" means "Return to Me" in Khuzdul, and really, that's what Thorin's quest is really about-returning home. It's also the word on Kili's runestone, so there's that. This story is a collaboration between the book and movie universes, so expect to see elements of both. I welcome constructive feedback, and hope that you enjoy!

Chapter 1

The heat of the summer was at last beginning to give way to the coolness of the autumn. Though the trees about the mountain remained vibrant and green, there was a certain breeze that would trip its way through Dale and up to the gates of the Lonely Mountain; the breeze that makes one pull up their collar out of instinct, despite its welcome relief.

The Elvish party standing outside of the Lonely Mountain, however, hardly seemed to notice either the heat or the wind that combated it. The guard stood tall and stoic. Yes, they had certainly drawn some eyes as they made their way towards Erebor—after all, it wasn't every day that the children of Dale saw an elf, much less several. But Thranduil could not be bothered with this trivial attention; there was something much more valuable in his mind. They flickered in his thoughts, white, effervescent, and gleaming.

The gates opened, and the envoy was ushered into the antechamber of the great mountain. The stone walls surrounded them in dark jade as the doors of the great mountain were pulled to. Thranduil dismounted gracefully, gave a command in murmured Elvish, and his guard, save four, led the moose toward the stables.

Another dwarf entered the antechamber. He was a rather astute-looking dwarf, with his graying beard reaching nearly his belt and forking into two parts. There was an air of confidence about the way he held his head high, and the look in his eye bespoke wisdom.

He bowed respectfully and said, "Balin, at your service."

Thranduil barely inclined his head, and said nothing about service.

"Your majesty," Balin said, as politely as he could, "I must say that we weren't expecting you until much later."

"I believe this business is one that needs to be handled properly, and with the time that it is due."

The time that it's due. But that time was due to start in a few hours.

"I'm afraid that you will have to wait a while longer. The King is not quite prepared to discuss anything quite yet," Balin said.

Thranduil's glacial expression did not change as Balin led him and his envoy into the antechamber to the throne room.

 _Of course,_ the young prince thought to himself as a messenger told him of the Elven King's arrival. _Of course, the elf thinks the world revolves around him._

"Thank you," he said aloud, "We will be ready presently."

The messenger went away, and immediately, Thorin whirled about to wake his brother. He assumed a messenger had already been dispatched to the King's chambers, as well as to his father's. Though he had already been awake for some time, Thorin had not yet dressed for the day, and his brother, Frerin, had not yet regained consciousness.

Past the door to his own bedchamber, he started for Frerin's, but was startled by a noise from behind him.

"Thorin? Have you seen my throwing axes?"

Without even turning, he recognized Dis's voice and immediately said, "Not now!"

She let out a little huff. "A bit short this morning, are we?"

Thorin turned around to face her, and saw that she was already dressed. She was looking at him with some amount of frustration, her hands on her hips and her brows furrowed.

"Excuse me, sister," he said sarcastically, "But the Elf-King has decided to make his appearance early."

Dis's hands dropped. "Are you serious?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Dis sighed again, intent on continuing her search.

"Good luck, then," she muttered, and she went back into her chambers, where she had already created a pretty sizeable mess.

Opening the door to Frerin's chambers, a bit more forcefully than he intended, Thorin moved over to the bed. Not surprisingly, Frerin didn't budge as the heavy door slammed against the stone walls. _Honestly,_ Thorin mused, _He could sleep through a dragon attack_. Not that it was his fault; after all, it was difficult to wake Frerin using external noise, seeing as he couldn't hear a sound.

Thorin shook his brother's slumbering shoulders, and Frerin started as if he had been woken from a nightmare. Drowsily, his hands fumbled into slurred forms.

"What? What?" he signed.

"The elves are here early," Thorin said, carefully forming the words with his mouth and his hands.

Immediately, Frerin shot out of bed, his hands rapidly flying in fluent Iglishmek.

"When did they get here? Why are they here early?"

"If I knew, I would tell you," Thorin replied.

"All right, then," Frerin signed, beginning to open his wardrobe. Thorin turned and left Frerin to get ready, closing the door behind him. Stepping back out into the common area, he turned into his chambers to begin the process of preparing for court with his grandfather, the King Under the Mountain.

Dis sat on her bed again, frustrated at her lack of findings. Not a single one of her little axes had turned up, and she had turned her bedchamber upside-down looking for them. Her wardrobe had spilled onto the floor, and every pocket of every cloak, dress, and pair of trousers was turned out, by any chance that they would hold one of the axes. Her trunks, too, had been emptied, then refilled haphazardly. She knew she would have to fix all of it later, but for now, her focus was on finding the weapons before someone got hurt.

Leaving her room, she tried to retrace her steps, leading her from the comparatively small area that she and her brothers shared into the main room, where the family often gathered. A fire was sparking merrily in the hearth, surrounded by armchairs and a large sofa. She immediately darted for this, shifting the pillows and looking under the cushions, until a voice from the corner of the room diverted her attention.

"What are you doing, Dis?"

Dis looked up at her mother, Nin, who had just begun to settle herself in her chair right beside the fire with her latest project: a tapestry.

"Oh, nothing, Amad," she said lightly, trying to remain inconspicuous in her search.

Nin rolled her eyes and reached down into her sewing bag. After a moment, she withdrew a little axe, glinting in the firelight.

"Looking for this?" Nin said, evidently not fooled by her daughter's ruse.

Dis raced over to her mother and took the axe, a bit more roughly than she intended.

"If I see another one of those in my kitchen again, I'll have to keep it," Nin admonished.

"Yes, amad," Dis said sheepishly.

She bounded out of the great room and kept up the search out in the main hall. Her eyes scanned the ground, searching desperately for a glint of steel, a polished oak handle, anything. In her peripheral vision, she saw Thorin and Frerin coming towards her and looked up.

"Frerin! Have you seen my throwing axes?" she signed as the pair hastily made their way towards the front door of the royal household.

Frerin looked back at her and signed, "Try your pockets!"

"Already have!" she signed as the door closed behind the princes.

Dis huffed. Of course she had checked the pockets—where else would she have looked first? Although…

She slowly reached a hand into her skirt pockets. Evidently, she had not searched _these_ specific pockets. With her right hand, she pulled out an axe.

"Fine," she muttered to herself, "Two down, one to go. Where could it be?"

"Is this meant to be a joke? Or, is it a custom among your people to give weapons as gifts?"

Thranduil dangled the strange little weapon in front of his host, meanwhile hiding the pain that stung on his posterior.

Thrain was baffled. He recognized it, all right—why it was in this antechamber, however, was less than clear. Anger began to boil within him. Tensions were already high between the Elves of Mirkwood and his people, and this could have done nothing but increase those hostilities. Oh, he was going to have words with his daughter after this—

"Adad! Have you seen my—oh."

As if on cue, Dis appeared through the door. Her immediate familiarity cooled into dread when she saw the axe, gingerly held in the hands of the King of Mirkwood.

Thrain snatched the weapon and growled, "Is this yours, Dis?"

"Yes, adad."

"Come and get it then," Thrain barked.

Dis kept her eyes on the floor as she slowly took it from her father.

"We will discuss this later."

"Yes, adad."

With that, Dis beat a hasty and quiet retreat.

Thrain took a deep breath, and, turning to Thranduil and said, "I apologize for my daughter's carelessness. I hope you are not seriously injured."

"Your child's practical jokes are not my concern," Thranduil drolly. "You know my business, and it is about time we attended to it, your Highness."

"Very well." _Let's get this over with._ Thrain groaned internally as the door to the throne room opened slowly, and the small party entered under the cavernous roof of King Thror.

A/N: Thank you for reading this first chapter! FYI, adad is the Khuzdul equivalent of 'dad, and' 'amad' is the equivalent of 'mom.' Can't wait to show you the next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Hi there! So, I've edited the last chapter a bit, thanks to some very valuable feedback from my first reviewer! For me, a piece of writing is never truly finished, as stories are always changing and evolving. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 2

Taking her whetstone in hand, Dis brought it across the blade, relishing in the sound of metal against stone. This was a daily ritual for her: grinding the axe against the scarred stone to restore its lethal edge. It was only made sweeter by the fact that she had found them all safely—well, all except, perhaps, one.

"I wonder why he wants them so badly," she said aloud to Nin, sitting across from her, still hard at work on her tapestry.

"What, dear?" she said distractedly.

"The elf king—"

"Thranduil," Nin corrected for the thousandth time.

"Thranduil, then. I wonder," Dis continued, "Why he wants the necklace so badly."

Nin sighed. Trying to avoid the inevitable argument that was to follow, she said, "I couldn't tell you."

With the discussion seemingly at an end, they both returned to their work. Silence settled back over the common room.

"Maybe it's jealousy."

Now that was unexpected. Unable to hide her own curiosity in her daughter's thoughts, Nin said, "Jealousy?"

Dis looked up at her mother, pleased at an opportunity to explain her theories.

"Perhaps he's just jealous of Grandfather," she began, "He does have the Arkenstone, after all. Maybe he wants the jewels in order to rival it. Or, it could be personal. It might be that those jewels remind him of…oh, what were those called? The elves always tell stories of them…but anyhow, I can see how anyone would want them. They're absolutely beautiful. But with how sorely the elf—er, Thranduil, sorry—wants, seems to need them…there has to be more to this than just their beauty, don't you think?"

"I try not to," Nin replied, "Thinking too much about politics is enough to make one's head ache."

"But don't you find it the least bit interesting? I mean, if I were Grandfather—"

"Here we go," Nin muttered to herself.

Dis' eyes snapped up to her mother.

"What do you mean by that, Mother?"

"Exactly that." Nin said, "Whenever you begin a sentence with 'if I were Grandfather,' you launch into a speech about how you should be involved in politics."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

With a patient sigh, Nin looked at her daughter and said, as she had so many times, "Your grandfather and your father are only trying to protect you."

"From what? Getting into an argument with some doddery old elf?"

"What your grandfather does, as well as your father and brothers, is much more dangerous than petty arguing, so much more. One misguided word can start a war, especially with Thranduil. That is why you and I may serve occasionally as private advisors, instead of having direct involvement."

"But I can hold my own!" Dis cried indignantly.

"Mahal knows you can, Dis," Nin said, not without affection. She knew as well as anyone else in the family or the kingdom that Dis' strong will often led her into heated discussions, without any concession on her part. "But I can tell you now," she continued, "There is no chance that your grandfather will give you a place in his court other than the princess, no matter how much you try to persuade him."

"But— "

"Don't argue with me about this," Nin said in a warning tone. But Dis would not be silent.

"But I want to do more than just get married off!" she exclaimed, "I want to be more than the little princess. I want to be remembered for _something_ — "

"And you will be," Nin interjected impatiently, "by those who care about you. Your brothers, your father and grandfather, me…are we not enough for you?"

Dis opened her mouth, and closed it again. She had not considered that part of it.

Silence settled again, and Dis lowered her eyes, her heart sinking into her stomach.

Nin watched her daughter and realized that what she had said was not entirely true.

"Dis. I do believe that you will be remembered. By more than just us."

She stood and moved toward her daughter. Lifting Dis' face toward hers she said quietly, "You must be patient, my dear. Your time will come, but you must be patient until it does. Do you understand?"

Dis gave a small smile and said, "Yes, mother. And thank you."

"For what?"

"Believing in me."

Dis took her mother's hand and gave it a squeeze. Nin beamed at her, glad that she understood.

The door behind them opened, and Thrain, Thorin, and Frerin entered. Dis immediately turned her gaze back down to her lap, and Nin moved back to her seat as she greeted her husband.

"How were the negotiations, Thrain?"

"They weren't." Thrain said proudly, "Thranduil asked for the jewels, Thror shut the chest in his face."

Dis could feel Thrain's stern gaze burning into the back of her head, and knew what was coming.

"So. You've found the rest of them?

 _Here we go_ , Dis thought to herself, as she said aloud, "Yes, adad."

A tense beat of silence. Then:

"He sat on it."

Before she could stop herself, Dis released a chortle of laughter. The mental image of the elf suddenly jumping into the air was almost too funny not to laugh at, until she met her father's gaze and immediately swallowed back the rest of her giggles.

"You are lucky he wasn't injured!" Thrain shouted. "Keep better care of your weapons, or I shall have no other choice but to keep them for you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, adad."

"Good."

Thrain moved towards his chambers and shut the door behind him.

As soon as it closed, Thorin and Frerin began to laugh. Dis joined them as soon as she saw her mother hiding a snicker behind her hand.

"Did he really sit on it?"

"Right on it!" Thorin said jovially.

"His face was without price!" Frerin signed. He followed it with an impression, moving to sit on the couch, but jumping back up, face contorted exaggeratedly, yielding more good humor from his siblings.

"M'igyid kuthu fund suluna ini ma mahilkhib heletumunsu hû khulumbujbu,*" Nin admonished, with a wry smile on her face.

"We know, amad, we know," Frerin gesticulated, "It wasn't him getting hurt that was funny—it was his face!"

"And the noise he made—by Durin's beard!" Thorin explained further, "You'd have thought they'd sent some silly elf maid in his place!"

"And by your axe, Dis," Frerin interjected, "Nicely done!"

"It was lost—there wasn't any trying about it. But you're welcome, anyhow!" Dis replied.

A/N I know just how annoying exposition can be, but it is necessary, and I hope I've made it at least a little interesting! Again, thank you to my first reviewer for your insight! See you next chapter!

*Rejoice not when an elf falls, but don't rush to pick him up either.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Hiya! So, this chapter is kind of a bridge to the next, introducing more characters and concepts for the big sha-BANG that kicks off the real plot. That is to say, one chapter stands between this one and the coming of Smaug the Terrible. Enjoy it!

Chapter 3

The forges were as hot as a dragon's gut. The hum of industry made chatter almost impossible. Not that there was much desire to talk—focus was required to produce the high-caliber work that the dwarves were known for. Hammers swung in the light of torches, and the golden emission of the fires made the steel, and the sweat beading on the blacksmith's foreheads, glint in the relative darkness.

One figure in the midst of them was quite hard to not notice. He was startling, and yet, seemed at home, handling the hammer like an extension of his tattooed arm. His long bushy hair was pulled back, except for the shock of hair that stood on end on top of his head. Just from looking at him, one would think that he belonged on some battlefield far away, hacking savagely at orcs. But since the Lonely Mountain was in the middle of peacetime, this warrior's most difficult adversary was the particularly stubborn bit of iron, slowly yielding into a more recognizable form.

The guard recognized Dwalin immediately, and approached his anvil.

"Master Dwalin!" he yelled once, twice over the din.

Dwalin turned and acknowledged him.

"His Majesty has doubled the guard. You are needed tonight."

Dwalin's bushy brow furrowed.

"He has redoubled it again?"

"Yes, sir. You've been assigned to—"

"The south again, I presume."

"No, sir," the guard replied, "You're in the treasury tonight."

Dwalin stopped in his tracks. The treasury. The pacing. The hallucinations. If what Thorin was telling him was true, he would have a chance to see for himself.

"I'll report," he muttered.

As his fellow guard turned away, he desperately hoped that Thorin was wrong about the King.

A few days later, another caravan arrived at the gates of Erebor. However, this group was met with much more genial reception, as the dwarves from the Iron Hills had always had a close relationship with the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain.

"Thrain!"

Nain, the flame-haired patriarch of the Iron Hills, greeted his cousin heartily, embracing him with a thump on the back. He was rather large for a dwarf, and stood a fair amount taller than Thrain. His booming voice only increased his sizeable presence, and ensured that everyone within a few feet of the conversation could hear every word he said.

"It has been a long time, cousin!" Nain boomed.

"Indeed it has," Thrain replied.

Behind him, the rest of the dwarves began to talk amongst themselves, and began to unload their wagons. As they did so, Thorin scanned the crowd, looking for one dwarf in particular. He had only seen her once or twice, but by Durin, did he know her. He knew her thoughts, ideas, and he felt as though he knew her very spirit. Even now, her latest letter rested in one of his pockets. As soon as he saw the unruly tangle of brown curls, he knew he had spotted her. Moving toward her as she began to lift a trunk out of a wagon, he came up behind her and said, "Do you need help?"

She turned, but her smile soon grew as she recognized him. Her hazel eyes twinkled mischievously as she said, "I don't think so, sir."

"Are you sure, my lady?" Thorin played along, smirking.

She set down the trunk on the ground with a thud.

"You could greet me properly," the woman said. Without needing any more encouragement, Thorin pulled her into a tight embrace, which she wholeheartedly returned.

"It is good to see you, Áre," Thorin murmured into her ear as they separated.

Áre smiled up at him. "And you, Thorin. As I understand it, we have much to talk about."

"My dear, you have no idea."

A/N: I know this chapter seems like it's really minor, but it is necessary foundation for the rest of this first act. Please, if you will, look at it as a prologue for the next chapter—which will come early this time! See you on Friday!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Here it is—the final calm before the storm with wings! This is where things come to a head with the intrigue of Erebor before the actual disaster. Please enjoy, and feel free to leave a review!

He heard them in the night. Dulcet whispers carrying into the cavernous spaces above and into his ears as he lay in the dark. They warmed him with their honeyed murmurings until he could not stay away.

That is how he came here tonight. Gleaming around him in the torchlight, Thror's handmade treasure, his ultimate love, reached out to him. Their whispers penetrated his every thought, until he could think of nothing else, and could see nothing except through their veil of gold.

He did not need sleep—his treasure kept him conscious. He did not need food—the treasure fed him, though his appetite could not be satiated. He did not need other dwarves—he had his true offspring, his life's essence, to keep him company.

The only dark cloud on the edge of the haze was his family—flesh and blood, of course. In fact, there was one now.

Thror could see him, lingering in the shadows. Likely thinking him mad. Mad! Mad for what? Securing his prosperity? Gathering and gathering until his family and his kingdom were finally outside of fear of poverty?

He scoffed at that. The only madness was not being grateful for this work that he had done for them!

But there was something in his eyes—his grandson's. Something tugged at the back of Thror's mind. It felt important. It didn't have a name, or else he had long forgotten it. But as he watched his grandson, his heir, back away into the dark, so the thought retreated, and his mind sank back into the glistening gold.

"Are you certain?"

"You didn't see him, Dis! He isn't our grandfather anymore!"

Gathered in Thorin's chambers, Dis could not believe what Thorin was saying. No, she could. She may have been young, but she was not blind. She knew that her grandfather's gold sickness was growing worse. But the trouble was with _wanting_ to believe it.

"You can't say that!" she cried, "He's in there somewhere, I know it!"

From his seat on Thorin's bed, Frerin signed, "Perhaps he is. But how do we know for sure?"

"We talk to him, that's what we do!"

"Dis!"

Both Frerin and Dis looked up at Thorin. There was an unexplainable emotion sparking behind his icy blue eyes. He sagged against his desk, his head down, his voice barely audible.

"You can't…you can't talk to a madman, and expect him to understand. There is certain madness that you just can't…"

Thorin broke off, losing his fight with his thoughts.

Quietly, Frerin stood and moved towards his brother. He came up beside Thorin and asked him, his hands fluidly forming his sentences, "Are you all right, brother?"

Thorin looked at his brother. Patiently, he signed and spoke aloud, "I'd like to be alone, please."

"But, Thorin—" Dis exclaimed.

"Please, Dis."

Frustrated, Dis threw her hands in the air and left through the door. Frerin, a bit more reluctant to leave, patted Thorin on the back and followed his sister.

"Something has to be done, Frerin! If he won't talk to us, he needs to talk to someone!" Dis signed furiously.

Frerin replied, "He just wants to be left alone right now, Dis. It's no crime."

"Perhaps not. But be honest, Frerin. You saw something in his eyes, didn't you?"

Frerin hesitated, unsure how to answer. After a moment, he signed, "What do you propose we do?"

Dis gave a little huff, and answered, "Well, if he won't talk with us, I know someone he will talk to."

The monologue running in Thorin's head was nonstop. His thoughts could not stop speaking.

 _What if that is me? Is that what I am to be? What will happen to me? Will I be_ that dwarf _I saw, will I—_

A knock on his door.

Sighing, as he walked toward the door, he raised his voice to say, "I told you, Dis, I want to be left alone—"

He opened the door, and was surprised by a familiar face.

"Hello, dear."

Áre was the last person that he had expected to see that night, but he was not necessarily upset.

"Good," she continued, "You're not undressed. Come with me."

She grabbed his hand and began to pull him towards the door that led out of the royal quarters.

"Why? Where are we going?" Thorin asked.

She looked back at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "You'll see."

With that, he relented to follow, closing the door to his chamber behind him.

Down into the outer halls they went, turning once, then twice, then again. A sense of understanding dawned on Thorin as they neared their destination. He knew _exactly_ where they were going.

Sure enough, they came to the alcove. Áre opened the small door and entered, Thorin following after her.

"It's one of the last nights of summer, you know," she explained matter-of-factly. "They'll be gone soon."

Thorin followed her onto the small balcony, and he was taken aback by the fresh air as the sky opened up in front of them. From here, he could see the River Running, glinting in the moonlight as it ran into Mirkwood. The forest spread out like a deep green rug at the feet of the mountain, rolling out to the city of Dale, the lights of candles and torches shining likes stars.

But above his head, the best stars glowed, gathering in the ceiling. Fireflies. Surely, the reason Áre brought him here.

"Have a seat, Thorin," she said, gesturing to the floor.

"Áre—"

"Please, Thorin. Humor me."

Thorin conceded, and seated himself on the ground.

Áre knelt next to him and tugged on one of his braids. "How long have these been in, Thorin?"

Thorin thought for a moment, then replied, "A while, I suppose."

A little sound from the back of her throat, and Thorin felt her take off the clasp of the braid she was holding.

"What are you doing?"

"These must be giving you a headache. By Mahal, how tightly did you do them?"

Thorin chuckled. It felt like goodness. All of it—the night breeze, the crickets singing in the night, the fireflies above their heads—but mostly, having _her_ there to enjoy it with him. The first braid came undone, and Áre ran her fingers through the newly-unbound locks. Thorin's eyes closed as he reveled in her touch.

"Now," she said, moving to another plait, "Talk to me."

"Talk?"

"Well, your sister wouldn't have come and gotten me if everything was all right. What happened?"

And he found himself spilling everything. The sight of his grandfather, madly wandering through the treasure; the feeling of losing him completely, and the foreboding that filled him, was almost unbearable. So as the braids came undone, Thorin's thoughts all became unbound.

"What if I fall as he has, azyungal? What shall become of me, of you?"

He reached up to her hand as it kept working on a braid, and took it. "The last thing that I want is to hurt you, and that is sure to happen should I… I am afraid, my dear. How can I promise you that I will always be of sound judgement? That I will not forget you, as my grandfather has forgotten us?"

Áre kept his hand in hers as she moved in front of him. "Look at me, Thorin."

His eyes met hers, and she was struck by the hopelessness there.

"It sounds as though you are worrying about tomorrow, when tomorrow does not even know what it is yet. It is true that you have the potential for greed. But so do many. I _know_ you, Thorin. I know your thoughts, and your intentions. You are not your grandfather, nor your father. You are…yourself. And should the dragon sickness raise its head, you will not react as your father or grandfather, but as yourself. And, if I know you right," she moved toward the braid she was untangling, "I know that you will stand, and you will defeat it."

"How can you be certain?"

"I've told you," Áre said, tipping his face towards hers once again, "It's because I know you."

Thorin, bewildered, looked up at this woman; this woman, who had such faith in him, this woman, whom he had given his heart—this woman, who would soon become his wife.

Áre smiled, and Thorin brought his mouth to hers. Thoughtfully, reverently, he kissed her, and she received it wholeheartedly, repeating his movements in perfect harmony.

When they parted, Áre looked above their heads and said, "Do you remember when you first showed me this place?"

Thorin nodded. Of course he remembered. "How could I not?"

Áre laughed. "Thatrû-khazâd, you called them."

"Dwarvish stars," Thorin recalled.

"You told me that since you were a dwarfling, you thought they were stars you could touch. I remember that night, when we lay here, and watched them dance."

She brushed the loosened hair from Thorin's face. "What I wouldn't give to take you back to that night."

In response, Thorin lay back on the ground, his hair splayed behind his head. "There," he said to her, "We're halfway to recreating it."

Thorin's smile grew as she down lay next to him and laced her fingers with his.

A/N: So there you have it—the night before Smaug. The calm before the storm. Please forgive me for updating late! I have set up a schedule so that I update every Sunday night. Tune in Sunday for the arrival of Smaug the Terrible! (Also, please please _please_ if you have a comment leave it in the review section!)


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